


A black heart still beats

by Minyron



Series: From Hell we come, to Hell we go [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, Antisemitism, Aryan supremacy, Auschwitz, Bullying, German Theo Raeken, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Misogyny, Murder, Nazi Kink, Nazi apologist rhetoric, Oral Sex, Partitions of Poland, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Polish Jew Stiles Stilinski, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Psychological Trauma, Racism, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Wolf Theo Raeken, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyron/pseuds/Minyron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things Theo can't have dominion over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A black heart still beats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> Set in the same verse as Ignominious, slightly afterwards the same year. Same warnings apply.

After what had happened, Theo was much more avoidant of Stiles and Heather. This meant more peace for her, while for Stiles it meant more and more time in the camp. Some weeks, Theo didn’t even come for him anymore, and when he did he barely spoke. The few words he directed at him were urgent commands to move faster. Theo was far more irritable than usual, like he’d lost all joy.

It wasn’t as bad as before, but it still left him with the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

The progressive lack of attention from Theo meant his old bullies could get closer to him without consequence. And they took every opportunity they had to fuck him over, to undo his work and take credit for it; even take his food. It seemed like his misery somehow made their existence better, and Stiles questioned the point of everything more than once. Their enemies had succeeded in turning them into something as despicable as they were said to be.

On Sunday, Theo did not come, again. The sun was about to set, and it had been the longest Stiles had been in the camp since the German took him in; three weeks. He missed Heather, and he wanted desperately to avoid more confrontation with the other inmates. But there was a red moon that night and he knew better than to expect good things to happen.

Stiles was sitting on the grass. He tensed up when he heard a rustle from behind.

“Look who’s here. Why don’t you go back to your mansion, princess?”, Aaron said, the oldest of the bullies.

He didn’t look back, biting his cheek from the inside.

“I bet Raeken’s son got tired of the faggot. How did you screw it up this time?”, Elijah asked, addressing him directly.

He refused to take the bait, letting out a sigh. He couldn’t ignore them forever, but he could well try.

“I’m talking to you”, Elijah said angrily, taking a step forward and grabbing Stiles, up from the grass.

Stiles was fed up with them. He answered on reflex, turning around as he stood, and punching the dude so hard a rotten tooth flew away. He was bigger than him, but it had caught him by surprise.

Elijah spit out blood, an aura of wrath around him. Stiles could sense how much this was going to cost him, but Aaron stood between them amused.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you”, he said with a smirk, “but too bad you’re messing with us. I thought you’d at least have learned respect after all this years.”

“Fuck you”, Stiles replied drily, seething with rage.

Aaron raised his eyebrows as he surged forwards to reduce Stiles. He restrained his arms, motioning for Elijah to get his legs. They lifted him up as he squirmed, trying to get away.

“Let me down, you bastard, the guards are going to notice!”

“So don’t struggle, bitch”, Elijah said, as Aaron brought a hand to shush him.

They started moving towards the electrified fence, and Stiles’s heart raced when he realized their plan.

“You know, I’d thought about doing this before”, Aaron said smugly, “but punching me, huh, who do you think you are? You’re gonna pay, you worthless piece of shit”

Stiles’s eyes opened wide as he tried to bite his hand, to kick, to _escape_ somehow. His stubborn survival instinct always prevailed for some sick reason.

“You’re gonna heat up!”, Elijah said laughing, as they started balancing him to throw him against the wires. There was a knot on his stomach when he saw the deadly metal nearing.

“Just another coward who tr-“, Aaron tried to say, but they were cut off with a loud roar.

Stiles was quickly dropped on the ground when the other two boys froze.

A huge black wolf stood just a few feet before them, staring intermittently at both of them. Its eyes shone yellow under the moonlight, and it bore its fangs menacingly.

A low rumble followed. The wolf jumped forwards, making them scream in panic. Aaron tried to run away in one direction, but he fell close to Stiles when he tripped him; Elijah went in the other, and was chased down. The wolf took a swipe at him and hamstringed one of his legs. He fell. The boy let out a very acute shriek as the wolf hovered over him. He gritted his teeth.

But then the wolf went away, heading for Aaron instead, leaving Elijah trembling. Aaron’s teeth clattered in terror when the wolf pounced over him. His screams drowned when it clawed at his windpipe, blood instead of air running down his lungs. He gurgled up uselessly until his body went limp. Stiles stared at his eyes, panic being replaced by a vacant expression gradually. When he stopped struggling, he knew Aaron would never hurt him again.

‘ _Good’_ , he thought.

He didn’t even notice Elijah limping away, leaving a trail of blood. His breathing was labored. Stiles just stared and when he got out of his trance, he noticed the wolf staring back at him. It didn’t look menacing at all, despite having his snout full of blood. It looked like he _understood_.

“Thank you”, Stiles said coldly to the animal.

He thought about the red moon for too long that night.

Next morning, Theo came back for Stiles and they shared few words. It was hard not to notice some caked blood in the corner of his mouth, the way Theo licked at it, but Stiles chose to ignore it.

*

The change in the paradigm of their relationship was subtle. Theo didn’t insult him anymore, just talking to him when necessary, and he gave much clearer instructions. They also spent more time alone; when he was with Heather Theo wasn’t around, and when he was in the same room as Theo, the other people scattered. Theo was calmer around him, but extremely irritable around the rest of the household. He’d noticed himself and heard from Heather.

 Theo’d been arguing a lot with his father lately. Stiles didn’t know why and it had him intrigued, but he just let it happen. It scared him to think it could be about him or Heather, and she didn’t like to be paranoid either, so they let it go.  

Theo wasn’t exactly kinder, but he wasn’t as rude as other times, paying mind and even asking if he was too tired or hungry. His narcissism had toned down. Sometimes, when he dared look and caught the German off guard, his expression was soft and amiable. He cursed himself, thinking Theo shouldn’t be allowed to look as anything other than distorted by rage. But he repressed his bile, because it only hurt himself.

He’d do what was necessary for him and Heather to survive.

The first time it happened, Theo wanted to unwind. He was allegedly stressed from whatever it was HJ delegates did. Patrolling, terrorizing inmates, enforcing curfews; praising the cruelty of Capos.  Mostly paperwork, Stiles ventured. He said something about Stiles’s pretty lips being put to good use.

It was smooth, like they’d done it before, like it was natural for them. Stiles followed direction like he did routinely. He found himself taking Theo’s cock down as he sat on a chair, fully clothed, his pants down his knees. Stiles knelt between his legs. He placed his uniform’s cap on Stiles’s shaven head as he pushed him down, hitting the back of his throat. Theo didn’t last long. He came with a moan, and he didn’t talk about it afterwards. Stiles could taste his semen for days.

Stiles wasn’t stupid, and he knew he was fucked up. He’d felt good about another person dying, one of his own. He knew he was fatally attracted to Theo, and that it wasn’t healthy. But he refused to let it show, he refused to acquiesce and let his feelings make him forget he _hated_ Theo, the Germans and the hell they’d turned Europe into. He wondered if there was something he didn’t hate in his life at times, other than Heather’s company. It hurt him, but he basked in the pain. At least Theo ignored Stiles’s attraction, didn’t dig on the wound. Maybe he didn’t care, why would he?

Perhaps the Allies would destroy the Reich. He knew his life would never be normal, that they’d broken things beyond repair. He knew the War was far from over, that he was a fool for deceiving himself again and again, just like they had in the Ghetto. But he also knew that as long as he woke up and got through another day, he would always think he was closer to something changing. And not everything could be bad, forever. That’s what Heather liked to say, and what she made him believe with her positivity in the face of adversity. His resignation had been replaced with apathy, and then, sometimes, a glimmer of hope. Hope that they could escape hell, that the German nation would consume itself in arrogance and die out one day. And that they’d survive the cataclysm.

*

 _Wir kämpften schon in mancher Schlacht,_  
_In Nord, Süd, Ost und West._  
_Und stehen nun zum Kampf bereit,_  
_Gegen die rote Pest._  
_SS wird nicht ruh'n wir vernichten,_  
_Bis niemand mehr stört Deutschlands Glück._  
_Und wenn sich die Reihen auch lichten,_  
_Für uns gibt es nie ein Zurück._

[ _We fought before in several fights,_

_In North, South, East and West._

_And stand now, prepared to fight,_

_Against the red plague._

_SS will not rest, we annihilate,_

_Until no one disturbs Germany's happiness._

_And even if our line thins,_

_There is never retreat for us_.]

 Theo hummed to himself, angry at the Soviet advances. He’d argued heatedly with his father again that morning. The internal administrative chaos in occupied Poland had forced some camp relocations, including Majdanek. Most were to extermination camps, the Final Solution needing completion before the Axis lost its inertia. They needed to accomplish their goal in time. But that didn’t mean his father had to argue him on every point. If he wanted some to die later, it was none of his business. For whatever reason. It’s not like it would have impact.

Theo knew well he was not weak. He knew he was better than the rest, not only because of his race, but even amongst his peers. He’d made sure to break other boys’ noses in the HJ meetings when somebody brought up the fact that he was motherless. He didn’t need an upstanding citizen for a mother to be excellent, and he’d proved that with the years.

Still, his anger flared up when he heard the SS personnel talk of homosexuality. He knew very well he was attracted to _some_ men. Women weren’t of his interest; they were too weak and stupid, only good for being mothers; even then they coddled some boys too much. He knew because he’d been raised by his father. Some boys, though, were delicate and submissive; feminine. It wasn’t unmanly to be attracted to that. Many men in history had been. Soft boys with golden eyes, meant to be dominated by real men.

His peers and his superiors weren’t too bright some times. They couldn’t tell the difference between homosexuality and being a fag. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t being asocial, and it wasn’t failing the Motherland. He’d father if he had to, but even that wasn’t necessary; was the Führer not a man? The idiots were too fixated; perhaps everyone had something to hide. Irma wasn’t a stranger to lying with women, and everyone knew that, but lesbianism was not as loathed by the dimwits. If they could tell that apart from the tomboy asocials that refused to mother pure born children, why couldn’t they appreciate the obvious male attraction in trainees and soldiers?

It’s not like he needed their validation, anyway. The reins of his life were his. He could do as he pleased, and he knew it was just his natural lust. And that his destiny was triumph.

*

Stiles was ecstatic for the whole weekend when his father arrived in Auschwitz. He’d been among the few people to survive Majdanek’s extermination and further deportations to Treblinka. He’d received him with more emotion than he’d thought himself capable of having again. Surprising as it was, the conditions in Auschwitz improved his father’s health and nutritional state. He was relieved that his father was still alive, couldn’t help the swell in his chest, the hope it brought. A weight was lifted from his chest heavier than a battle tank.

He denied any knowledge to his father of the black dog that killed inmates who tried to escape, as the rumor had spread. He was taken back to the house on Sunday, after he gave him a very brief explanation that he was a domestic servant –and nothing else–. A feeling of unease settled again.

He couldn’t shield himself in apathy anymore. He felt dread, because now Theo could hurt his father if things took the wrong twist. He had to be good.

Theo dropped hints subtly. He never talked about camp administration, other than to mock Irma’s ineptitude, but that week it was all about the new deportations. How everything ran smoothly, what a great work they were doing. Stiles knew Theo wasn’t as deluded as for thinking he could ever appreciate their nightmare system, but it’s not like Theo actually cared for Stiles, and it showed.

Soon Stiles noticed that Theo just _knew_. It didn’t matter how, or why; he knew, and he wanted Stiles to know that he did. Stiles’s apprehension reached its peak on Wednesday.

“Is there something you want to tell me about the camp, Jew?”

He denied with his head, before he could think better. When Theo asked him about the weekend, he usually spoke about the progress of their labor. He must’ve slipped and been too scarce, too eager to finish talking without raising suspicion. Or perhaps Theo already knew and it was all a mind trick. Either way, he was utterly fucked.

Theo didn’t smirk, like Stiles had learned to expect. He looked disappointed instead.

“You can trust me”, Theo stated dryly, not a demand. He looked at his eyes, the slight flash of yellow.

If he had any doubts before, it was all clear now. The wolf. Theo was protective of him, from others. He must only want to hurt him himself, Stiles thought. But the idea that he could trust him was ridiculous, and he was at a loss of what to say. He didn’t know how to feel, was it insane to enjoy the protection? He’d killed for Stiles and he’d liked it. If life wasn’t sacred anymore, though, how was he any better than them? What he knew was that he didn’t want to lose Theo’s protection.

Next week, when Theo was sitting on his desk, he brought up the subject again. The moment Stiles had dreaded all week.

“Anything new worth sharing, Stiles?”

Stiles hated that he used his name. It bore so much intimacy, and he didn’t deserve it. He’d already taken too much of it by force.

Stiles tried to say something, but the words caught on his throat. He just couldn’t bear it anymore. The constant sensation something bad was about to happen. He’d gotten physically sick from all the anxiety; his father had noticed he was worse lately. Nothing sat well on his stomach.

He couldn’t choke the sob, and soon he was openly crying. He knew it was pathetic, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“Sir, sir, please…”, Stiles said.

His legs wobbled, and soon he was kneeling on the floor by Theo’s chair. He grabbed desperately at the dark fabric over the other boy’s thighs. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he mustered the courage to look directly in Theo’s blue eyes.

 “Please, please, _Theo_ , don’t do anything to my father”, he begged, hoping he would just get him to understand. That he was human, that he was suffering, that he needed it to be over.

He still expected Theo’s gaze to be unforgiving, but it was kind and open. It shattered his heart, and he let out another loud sob.

“I… I’m _so_ sorry”, he added, bracing himself for the worst on instinct.

“Shh, it’s okay”, Theo told him, placing his hands over Stiles’s cheeks, cupping his face. He brushed a thumb over his cheekbone, wiping a stray tear.

“Stiles…”, Theo said, softly, “It hurts me you think like this”, he continued, “I’d _never_ do something like that to you. I’d never hurt you, I’ve saved you”, he went on.

Stiles could feel his heart beating out of his chest, eager to grab the relief that was about to flood over him. Only if it were true…

“Who do you think made your father come here? Do you really want to know what would’ve happened to him if I hadn’t argued so much with my dad?”

Stiles started to hyperventilate when the realization hit him. Theo was the one that had brought his father back to him. He was responsible that he was alive.

“I did it for you”, Theo supplied, and closed the distance between them to slot their mouths together.

Stiles let out a soft sound of surprise, opening his eyes wide, but soon he closed them. The kiss was chaste, undemanding, and compassionate. Like nothing Theo was supposed to be. It made something warm in his chest unfurl, and he melted into it against his better judgement.

It went on for half a minute before Theo stopped it suddenly. He looked scared, like he hadn’t meant to do it, again. For the first time, as they were looking at each other, Theo was the one to break his gaze, shy.

“You, get out”, he said with a raspy voice, shame turning into anger.

Stiles swallowed audibly. He stood up as quickly as he could, astonished by what had gone on. He was nervous, but hadn’t had time to process.

*

Theo had plenty of time to process what had happened. He’d fallen for a boy. A Jew. A prisoner. That was not just lust. Nobody could know.

He almost broke the table with a punch.

“Fuck it”, he said out loud

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked it!
> 
> The German part is from the song 'SS Marschiert in Feindesland' (SS marches into enemy territory), the Waffen SS marching song.


End file.
